A/N: Just a silly little plotbunny I found gnawing on my ankle the other day. Supposed to be before Christine, for reasons to be discovered by the reader.
Disclaimer: I do not own Leroux's Phantom
Erik had seated himself in a small wooden chair, which had once been a prop for some unremarkable show sung by tongues that deserved to be slaughtered. He ejaculated an annoyed grunt; he did not like people being late or otherwise untimely, although he never personally kept many dates. It was even more rare that he should be waiting for one to meet him in his isolated home. And then, none but he and one other had visited the interior with living eyes. An idle finger ran down the side of his mask. Perhaps, someday, he would find a way to perfect his mask making and be able to walk amongst the real world. But then again, there was no good in that. The real world had rejected him once; It could easily do so again.
This moribund train of thought was interrupted as Erik heard the scraping of a boat on the soggy soil that surrounded the lake. There was no attempt made to rise from the creaky old chair. He remained still, waiting. Footsteps, a knock, and another knock. Finally, the door latch jiggled and the door creaked open. The tall, dark man nodded in salutation without trace of neither smirk nor smile.
"Erik."
The party in question lifted a wary finger in a sort of feeble, annoyed greeting. "You're late, daroga."
The questioner made no immediate attempt at response.
Erik waved his hand in dismissal; there was a more important subject at hand. The wooden chair creaked as Erik rose and gestured for the Persian to follow. They moved into a room only very slightly larger than the first. In the far corner there was a couch positioned in what seemed to be a strategic manner. The couch itself, however, was uninteresting. It was what lay atop the couch that held any and all interest. A girl, appearing no older than twenty, laid sound asleep, delicate fingers curled up around an imaginary object held close to her breast. Her delicate flaxen curls fell around her face in a most agreeable manner as her chest rose and fell with a steady rhythm. Her skin was fair, and her features soft. Her voluptuous body was hidden indecently under odd-looking apparel.
"Does this belong to you?" Erik inquired gruffly, rather hoping the answer was yes.
"No," the Persian shook his head. "Where did you find her?"
Erik shrugged in an agitated manner. "Right here, sleeping. Not long before I called you here." His tone was even and indifferent.
"You do not know how she arrived here?" The Persian's taught brow was wrinkled in thought. After taking Erik's silence for a negative answer, he spoke again. "What are you going to do with her?" A longer silence ensued the second question and the Persian noted Erik's counseled gaze fixed steadily and perhaps even longingly on the figure in question. "Surely you do not plan to keep her down here."
Erik seemed about to reply when the slumbering demi-goddess stirred. Even in early waking moments this girl seemed to be the Aphrodite of every man's desire. Her eyes widened slightly at the sight of her surroundings and the two men staring rather blatantly at her. The rosy, full lips that she bore so prettily curled into a perfect smile. No words were spoken, as the two men were rather dumbfounded and the stranger (with all the class of an aristocrat and all the allure of a great courtesan) looked upon them, smiling. It seemed a great deal of minutes before the great beauty spoke.
"Bonjour, messieurs." Her voice seemed to ring as a thousand silver bells and yet it retained a soft, melodic power. "My name is Marie-Suzanne..." She raised a delicate hand to silence the men's start. "You need not introduce yourselves to me, I know already." A graceful sweeping motion followed this borderline-disturbing comment, as Marie-Suzanne stood and rushed to Erik, embracing him tenderly and beginning to sing softly in his ear.
Erik's stiff form failed to move a single centimeter for the duration of the low, entrancing melody. The Persian had by now backed away a solitary step, staring at the pair and knowing what to anticipate. When Marie-Suzanne had finished her song, she stood back, admiring Erik for a split second before leaning back towards him and planting a soft kiss on his cheek. "I love you." The words were whispered into his mask. After a few moments of delicate silence, Erik cleared his throat to manage speech.
"Leave us, daroga." His voice was cracked yet calculated.
The Persian nodded, slowly heading towards the exit. "I never saw her." After her spoke, he quickened his pace, knowing it was something Erik had to do, and not wishing to bear witness to it. After all, it was between Erik and the demi-goddess, and beyond that, Erik may have done the same with a few different men prior to this occasion, but never had he had a woman. Though, in his mind he'd imagined doing such things as he was about to do to Marie-Suzanne to little Giry but he could not afford to anger Madame.
His face contorted into a wicked sort of smile. "Come with me." He led the beauty to the rear of the small house. She followed obediently, humming a soft melody. He opened a door (that seemed to be a part of the wall just seconds prior) enough so that the guest's slender form might slip through. "Wait for me in here."
Marie-Suzanne nodded seductively before slipping through the door. Erik pulled a key from his pocket and soundly locked the door behind him before turning and settling on his chaise lounge. After a few moments he began to hear the piercing scream he'd been waiting for. Ah, how relaxing. He traveled up the few steps to the glass window, overseeing the activity in his "forest". "You can't do this to me! I'm omniscient! This wasn't in my plot to overtake the Vicomte with my beauty and wit, win his fortune then return to you, whom I truly love despite your grotesque figure and hideous manner!" Erik grinned at the shrieks. "You were supposed to make love to me and make ME the star of the Paris Opera!" She splashed about as she lost her footing in the incoming lake water.
Erik thought back. That merciless Indian Princess had been correct. It was more enjoyable to do unspeakable things to a beautiful woman.